


Ten Gold Dragons

by bethgreenesgf



Series: ASOIAF Rarepair Week [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5 Times, Bets & Wagers, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethgreenesgf/pseuds/bethgreenesgf
Summary: "I know your secret, Arya." Shireen pulled her coin purse from the pocket of her dress and withdrew Arya's prize."Oh?""You've a mind to bankrupt my house." (or Five Bets Shireen Lost to Arya + One She Won)





	Ten Gold Dragons

“Are you feeling ill, Lady Baratheon?” Arya sat down across from Shireen, brow slightly furrowed. “Should I fetch the maester?”

“Oh no, Lady Arya. I am quite well.” Shireen pulled her borrowed furs tighter around her shoulders and hoped she remembered to send one of her men to Winter Town on the morrow to fetch her a warm cloak of her own. She need not impose upon the Starks any more than she already had.

“Arya.”

“Arya.” Shireen took a swallow of ale. “Only,” she hesitated, “it is rather cold here, even compared to the biting winds in Dragonstone.”

“I’ll fetch you one of my fur lined cloaks,” Arya offered without a moment’s thought and made to stand. Shireen reached out and took hold of Arya’s wrist, stilling her.

“That is most unnecessary, Arya. The furs you loaned me are serving me quite well, thank you.” She shivered then, her body’s chilled state betraying her words. “I will be fine.”

“I’ll bet ten gold dragons you'll be at my door, begging a cloak from me come nightfall.”

Arya opened her door that evening to Shireen, teeth chattering, with ten gold pieces in hand.

* * *

The training yard was a sea of excited bodies, Jon Snow and Arya Stark were to spar and it seemed every man, woman, and child in Winterfell was aiming to be present. Shireen had decided to place ten dragons on Arya's victory that morning, though the odds were split nearly down the middle with a narrow majority favoring The King in the North. The crowds cheered as brother and sister entered the yard together. When Arya finally yielded to her brother after a mock battle that lasted well beyond an hour, Shireen made her way from her viewing spot and down the stairs to speak with her.

"You fought well, Arya. Not well enough, though," Shireen teased. "This is the second time this week you've lost me ten dragons."

Arya threw her head back and laughed, the jovial sound filling the yard.

“You should never bet against me in combat, except when it comes to my brother." Jon Snow ducked his head, messing Arya's hair with his sword hand. "Walk with me, Lady Shireen."

The two walked together through one of the archways which flanked the training yard and Arya lead Shireen towards the little makeshift betting stand the master-of-horse's son had erected. Arya smiled at the boy, making small talk with him as though he were a great lord and not the son of her servant. The child grinned, tongue poking out between the gap his missing front teeth had left, and reached beneath his table and drew out twenty gold dragons which he placed into Arya's outstretched hand.

"Arya!"

"Jon is better than me at swords." Arya shrugged. "Only Jon," she laughed, "and only at swords."

* * *

 "You look beautiful, Arya." Arya snorted, fisting her hands in the fine, grey wool skirt of her dress and tugging in an anxious manner.

"It's not exactly me, is it?" She pulled her dark braid over one shoulder and rubbed the end of it between her fingers. "Jon told me I could dress as I like, but with all the Southron lords and ladies here, I wanted to—I don't know." She sighed. "It will be a miracle if I manage to make it through dinner without making a fool of myself."

"I have confidence in you." Arya's eyes brightened.

"Care to wager on it?"

"The usual?" Arya smiled, taking Shireen's hand in hers and shaking it vigorously as the two entered the great dining hall. They parted ways, Shireen turning left towards her table and Arya continuing forward to her place at her brother's side. Shireen sat beside Ser Davos, picking at the roasted pigeon as an afterthought as they spoke.

Mid-way through the feast Shireen's attention, as well as the rest of the room's was drawn to the high table at the sound of a high pitched squeal. Shireen watched in horror as Arya's puffed cheeks thinned and the wine she had held in them sprayed from her nose. The room froze for a moment, as though a witch from a storybook had come and cast a spell over them, and then burst into uproarious laughter. Arya flushed bright red, sinking into her chair a little even as her brother spoke soft words to her in an attempt to soothe her.

* * *

 "You're up rather early." Arya's voice startled Shireen out of her contemplation in the cool air. Arya was clad in breeches and leathers, her cloak secured with a pin bearing the sigil of her house at her neck. "Enjoying the morning before the rain comes?"

"Rain?" Shireen looked up. The sun shone bright, for once free of cloud cover. "It is the warmest day since winter began."

"Yes, likely the warmest day we'll see for many moons," Arya said, "which means rain instead of snow."

"No, I don't think so. I've a book on patterns of the weather, written by a maester to Daeron the Good, which says that a blood stained sunrise brings rain." She gestured to the sky. "See, it is clear and bright. No rain today," Shireen declared. "Ten dragons."

When hours passed without so much as the threat of rain, Shireen was sure she had finally won and allowed herself a private smile. It was during her noontime meal in her chamber that she heard the telltale roll of thunder from outside. By the time she had finished supping, the rain was well and truly pouring, drenching her as she made her way from her rooms to Arya's bedchamber.

"I know your secret, Arya." Shireen pulled her coin purse from the pocket of her dress and withdrew Arya's prize.

"Oh?"

"You've a mind to bankrupt my house." 

"Well, now that you've uncovered my dark plot, I'll have to have your head on a pike I suppose."

* * *

 “Ten dragons we’re all dead by morning,” Shireen intoned as they stared out at the approaching horde of undead. Her guards had told her she was mad to remain in Winterfell during the battle, but Shireen knew that if the North fell, she and all the rest would be doomed no matter which castle they hid in.

“I’ll be collecting on your debt at first light, my lady.” They looked at each other for a moment, Arya smiling grimly, and then turned back to the window. She had one hand on each of her swords. There was Needle, a little thing and useless against the White Walkers they both knew but it was a part of Arya that Shireen knew she would not part with until her dying breath, and Dark Sister, a Valyrian steel blade that had once belonged to Queen Visenya Targaryen and Aemon the Dragonknight both. It was hilted in silver with a golden flame for its pommel and adorned with a large blood-red ruby. One sword had been gifted to her upon her parting from her brother Jon Snow and the other upon their reunion, and they would both accompany her into battle at his side in short measure.

Shireen wished to tell Arya how very much she admired her in that moment, brave and bold as any man. Dark brown hair braided down her back, steel hung from her hips, she looked the part of a warrior queen from a song. Her heart ached. 

“Fight with fury, Arya.”

* * *

“All the men speak of now is your valor in battle. They’ll be calling you Your Grace soon enough, I bet.”

“Shireen, haven’t you learned your lesson by now?”

“Never. I’m an incorrigible woman.”

“Ten dragons?”

“Fifteen.” The two walked together across the room, stopping briefly to speak with a party of Braavosi women who had first arrived at Eastwatch with supplies for the war effort some time before the great battle. Arya conversed with them in their language and kissed each of their cheeks in thanks. They continued to the dias, Arya taking her usual seat while Shireen sat to the seat beside Arya which did not belong to the king.

“Lady Shireen,” one of House Tully’s bannermen said, inclining his head. Shireen nodded back with a gentle smile. He turned to Arya, bowing, “Your Grace.”

Arya's eyes widened comically. Shireen stifled a laugh, clasping her hands in front of her. The man retreated and another came to take his place, once again bowing to Arya with a reverent, "Your Grace."

"Your Grace," Shireen teased, "I believe you owe me fifteen gold dragons."

**Author's Note:**

> For ASOIAF Rarepairs "[Rarepair Week](https://asoiafrarepairs.tumblr.com/post/173749507007/asoiafrarepairs-weve-all-seen-fandom-events)", Day Four — 5 + 1.


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